A Moment of Clarity
by kimmary
Summary: Sometimes it takes just one defining moment, and other times, it takes a little more. The saying if you love something, set it free bodes true for our two heroes. But will it be too late? Based on season 2 so far  and the previews of what's to come
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I'm back. So, being from SA, unfortunately I need to live season two vicariously through the good people who write recaps, and reviews, and post videos on You Tube. This is based on my limited exposure (and of course the season previews). This will be a multi-chapter fic. I hope you like….**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even Rookie Blue season one (which, I am still waiting for).**

**Chapter one: The decision**

Sam cannot recall the exact moment he came to The Realization. Made The Decision. Took The Step.

Perhaps it was sitting in Best's office, hearing that the job he wanted, worked for, had opened up, and yet… His decision, his drive to join Gangs and Guns suddenly wasn't a given, wasn't so clear cut. His priorities had changed.

Perhaps it was when he leapfrogged over the body of a young woman who lay in a pool of her own blood, dying. Desperate to know that she, Andy, his rookie was still alive.

Perhaps it was as he stood, waiting, impatiently, outside the mobile unit, not caring or thinking of the case at hand.

Perhaps it was as he clutched her face, searching her eyes, trying to convince himself that she was still there, tangible, whole. And she stared back at him, accepting, not questioning, as if she wouldn't, couldn't, didn't expect anything less.

Perhaps it was the curiosity in her eyes and the laughter on his lips as he told her they make a good team. The tilt of her head, daring him to quantify his words, so say what neither dared. Muttering under her breath, when he didn't. Marching in her heels back to her undercover op in that unbelievably short black number. Glancing back at him, just once, briefly.

Perhaps it was the glint of her ring and the satisfaction in her eyes that she was loved by someone, and she thought it would be forever.

Perhaps it was the terror in her face as the man she loved, bled out on their floor, of their house.

Perhaps it was his lashing out at his fellow officer, his mate, berating him for not stopping her from going into that damn burnt out Laundromat.

As if Shaw could have stopped her, once she set her mind to something. He, Sam, knew he sure as hell wouldn't have been able. Short of tackling her to the ground and sitting on her. Which, he realizes, he probably would have done, if it meant protecting her. Damn, impudent rookie. Has trouble tattooed onto her forehead.

Or perhaps, it was his realisation, his lightning moment: To Serve and Protect, right? Problem was, who was he serving and protecting? Wasn't the community at large, was it?

She wasn't his responsibility. She wasn't his rookie. She wasn't his. Full stop. And if there is one thing the past few weeks has made very clear, is that he isn't doing the squad, her, or himself for that matter, any favors.

As the saying goes: If you love something, let it go…

So, he was. Letting go. Walking away. From her.

Which is how he finds himself once again sitting in Best's office, with good old Detective Boyd, being briefed on his next assignment.

It's a humdinger. Dangerous. Deadly. But at least this time, he is higher up the food chain. Designer gear and an uptown apartment. Penthouse. Makes it sort of worth it, doesn't it? Tries to convince himself.

He needs to be fully briefed, but this is it for the 15th Division, at least for now. He has said his goodbyes. To everyone. Except one.

He finds her in women's locker room. Fitting, he thinks.

Sits down next to her, thigh against thigh. Comfortable in each other's space. And that's the whole problem. Isn't it?

She stares forward, her arms resting on her jean-clad thighs. The evidence of her run-in with a collapsed building evident in the cuts and scrapes on her arms. Superficial, but there, just the same.

He cannot help himself, reaches a hand up and gentle pushes a loose strand of wet hair behind her ear. He notices a fresh graze, bloody and oozing above her eye.

Sighs, stands, walks over and picks up the first aid kit lying there. He really should talk to Best about her getting issued her own. She sure as hell needs it. Either that or full body protective gear.

He dampens a cotton swab, moves in front of her, crouches down, his one hand on her thigh, balancing himself.

She sucks her lips into a fine, bloodless line, grimacing as he lightly swipes the top of her eye. He sees a glint of a tear, and chooses to ignore it. Not sure whether her reaction is to the stinging pain, or to him. Too scared to ask.

He works in silence for a while, cleaning the wound. Trouble. Tattooed. On. Her. Forehead.

Pulls out a plaster, opens it, presses it gently to the wound. Finally speaks: "You heard?

She nods, too afraid to say anything, in case the words that choke her, sneak, crawl, spill out of her mouth. He sees she wants to say something. Unusual for her to be this quiet. Waits, still crouching in front of her.

"Why," she finally gets out. "Why now? Why this case?"

He smiles at her sadly, places his hand on her cheek. Tilts his head slightly, looks into her eyes, searching to see what is hiding there in the depths. She stares at him, lifts her hand to his, their fingers intertwine, automatically, without thought, without premeditation.

He feels her ring press into his flesh. His reminder. His reality.

Dropping his hand to her knee, he pushes himself up. Takes her hands, pulls her up.

"Come on McNally," he says quietly, rolling her name over his tongue. "You know that this is what I've wanted from the start. From the moment we partnered, you knew this was on the cards. Now is my chance. It's not like I have anything to lose."

She ducks her head, he lifts her chin. "It's my time now. I supported you and Callaghan. Now, it's time for you to support me. Partners right? Always got each other's backs?"

She nods, a tear slides out of the corner of her eye. Unbidden. She swipes it away angrily.

He continues: "I need you to want this for me. I need you to want me to be happy. Just like I want you to be happy. Don't you see? This is the way it should be, it has to be."

She chokes back the tears, threatening, hovering, clutching to her lashes. Reaches her arms up, encircles his neck, hugs him tight. "Be safe Sam," she whispers, her soft breath tickling his ear.

He hesitates, breathes in the fragrance of her freshly-washed hair, commits her touch, her scent to memory, before sighing raggedly.

Lifts his hands, gently disentangles her arms. Smiles his disarming Swarek smile: "Don't forget to send me an invite to the wedding, McNally."

Kisses her softly on the forehead.

She watches him. Leaving her. Walking away.

Stands for a second or two, staring at the now empty space, before pushing though the door. Ready to go after him. To stop him. To ask him not to leave. To ask him to stay.

It's Shaw who catches hold of her wrist as she goes determinedly by. Pulls her back tight against his chest. Holds her as she tries to wrench away. Allows Sam to walk out of the barn.

As soon as the doors close behind him, Shaw releases her. She turns her tear-stained cheeks towards him, looks at him uncomprehendingly, angrily: "Why? Why did you let him go? He's going to get killed out there. These men, these people he is going to be dealing with, they don't just leave you with a warning…"

She looks at him accusingly, spits out: "You are his friend. Why didn't you talk him out of this? Why didn't you stop him?"

Shaw shakes his head at her, sadly. Ignores her venom. "You don't get it, do you McNally?" he says softly, without malice. "He's chosen this. He needs this. He is doing this so that he can live again. It's being here, with you, that's been killing him."

She stares at him open-mouthed.

He adds: "Go home to your fiancé, you made your choice. Let him have his."

Leaves her in the hallway. Alone.


	2. Chapter 2: Time to compartmentalize

**A/N: Thank you so much for the amazing response. You guys rock! Don't think any of my stories have had such a brilliant initial response, so hope I can keep it up….**

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><p><strong>Chapter two: Time to compartmentalize<strong>

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><p>She lies, Luke's arm heavy over her body, his scent still lingering, clinging to her skin. Is it so wrong (she questions) that for a short while she wanted to lose herself in Luke's arms, feel his hands on her body? Feel something other than this gaping hole in her chest, this knot in her stomach...<p>

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><p>She had come straight home. Not wanting to go to the Penny. Not wanting to sit, and smile, and laugh. Not wanting to pretend that she didn't feel the floor had fallen away from under her feet. That her safety net, her protector, her rock - had crumbled, disappeared.<p>

Why was it (she asks herself) that she feels the moment in the locker room, the last caress, was the last. That she has lost him. That even if he were to come back to them, the squad, he would no longer be _her _Sam. And, she has to question, why does this hurt so damn much?

She had stripped down to her tank top and panties, leaving her clothes where they lay, crumpled on the floor. Crawled into bed. Wanted to close her eyes, shut the world out. And perhaps, just perhaps, the dream, the nightmare would fade away.

Luke wasn't due home for a while.

After Oliver had dropped his bombshell and walked away, she had stood staring at the closed door and the empty hallway for a few minutes, mulling over his words. Pulled herself towards herself, and gone to find Luke, to let him know that she was going home.

She had popped her head around the D's door, seen the two blonde heads bent together, focused on some file or other. Another night, another case…. Luke had said not to wait up, so she didn't.

But, just as the sob was creeping up and out her throat, she heard the soft footfalls.

"Andy, you awake?"

She had turned over, as Luke climbed onto the bed.

"I heard about Swarek, you okay?"

She nodded.

He smiled, lent over and kissed her lightly. She could smell the faint scent of Jo's perfume clinging to his shoulder. "Popped into the Penny with Jo for a drink, heard the news and thought you would want some company."

She rolled onto her elbow, her head in her hand, gave him a sideways look, a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, ok, so Swarek and I have never really seen eye-to-eye, particularly when it comes to you. But he is, was, your partner. You were close. He's gone and that has got to hurt. So, I came home," he said simply.

She smiled, reached her arms up, wrapped them around his neck and pulled him close.

"How did I get so lucky?" she mumbled into his neck, as she unbuttoned his shirt, kissing his bare skin.

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><p>And so, now she lies next to Luke, the man she loves, the man whose ring she wears. And she cannot sleep. Lifting his arm gently, she slides out from under. Plucks her robe off the back of the bathroom door. Sits on the sofa, pulling her knees up to her chest. Sighing as she props her head on her knees.<p>

"Fake it till you make it" – that was their motto wasn't it, from that first day when they didn't know anything. Rookies all of them, babies really. Babies with guns. Problem was, she knew in all honestly, that she still hasn't made it. Does that then mean she is still faking it?

Her mind slips back, to_ that_ undercover op. Sam telling her she had come so far, that she could do this, that she had his back, that he trusted _her_. She had been so scared. Not for herself. Oh no. The damn idiot with the gun pointing direct at her head. All she could think of was saving her partner. Saving Sam. It had been so easy to pretend she was Edie and he Gabe.

What was it that Sam had said just a few weeks back, when she and Gail were undercover at the club? Stick to the truth, include factors of your own life where possible. Don't take on a role, be the waitress. Be Edie. Be in love with Sam... Gabe... Be in love with Gabe... It was easy. Telling Angel why him: "When you know, you know," she had said softly, casting a look at him, smirking at the side of her.

Funny that she had repeated those self-same words in the car the other day. Talking about Luke this time: "When you know, you know." But, was she reassuring Sam… Or herself?

Sighing, she stands, moves to the kitchen, puts on the kettle and starts making herself a cup of tea.

She has, on more than one occasion, told Sam he has a habit of compartmentalizing. But, truth be told, she thinks, absentmindedly stirring her mug, she is the one who compartmentalizes.

Don't over-think it, Sam was always telling her. But, that's just the way she is. She can't help it. She meant what she said during her evaluation with Best, that every night she lays, thinking about the decisions she had made, and how she could have... should have done things differently.

Her thoughts drift to that night at the club, sitting swirling her drink in her hand, chatting to Tori about her drug-dealing boyfriend. Talking about _that guy_. The one who creeps, crawls, burrows under your skin. Makes you hover between wanting to rip his clothes off, and beat him with the heel of your shoe – sometimes simultaneously. That man who you are not entirely sure of, don't entirely know where you stand, how he feels… And if she is honest with herself, it was Sam, whom she automatically thought of. Not Luke. It was only when Tori asked if her man was like that, if her man tells her he loves her, did Luke re-enter her head.

And she can't help but think now, what if… What if she had given in to herself, to Sam that night at the Penny. Their first day as partners. How easy would it have been to have lent in, instead of pushing away. Her eyes had focused on his lips, she had moved forward towards him. Inviting. He had been offering more than just a ride home that night, and they both knew it.

But, he was her training official. There were rules. And while some rules are just made to be broken, others define you, define who you become. Protect you. From yourself.

So, she had smiled, shaken her head and walked away.

And then there was _that_ night, that awesome, explosive night. She hadn't thought twice about going to him. Sure as hell wasn't going there for a chat and a cup of coffee. She wanted to feel... Wanted to feel alive... Wanted to feel him... Wanted him...

She told Traci it was the power coming back on that stopped her, halted her, brought her back to reality. But, in all honesty, it her phone ringing, vibrating in her pocket. It was the unwelcome intrusion of her _boyfriend_. If Luke hadn't phoned, who knows what would have happened. She snorts, loudly. She knows exactly what would have happened...

And, if Luke hadn't have gotten to Sam before she was able to the next day? Would she have gone to the cabin? What would she have said to Sam, as she stood in front of him, heart in her throat? "Play that again, Sam."

Instead. Luke had, and Sam coldly, callously, told her that Luke could have her. Like she was some sort of trophy. Some sort of object they could pick and choose what to do with. Sam had given her to Luke. And he had taken her. And she let them.

What if Sam didn't push her to Luke, would she have still let herself fall for him? But, he did, and she has. Now, she is living with this beautiful man, they share a house, she is wearing his ring. Kind of committed now, isn't she? To this. To him. To making it work.

So, she will do what she keeps telling Sam he does. She will compartmentalize. Put Sam back in the box where he belongs. Not on ice, like Traci recommends, because the problem with ice is that it thaws out. Ice is a preserver, after all. Putting on ice means that you can, if you want, always return. There is always that chance. That possibility. That opportunity.

No more. He has made his choice and now she must stick with hers.


	3. Chapter 3: Smoke and mirrors

**Chapter three – Smoke and mirrors**

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><p>David swops his phone to the other ear, straightens the lapel of his designer suit, sticks his hand in his pocket and stares out of the bay window overlooking the city of Toronto, still listening to the voice on the other end. He sighs, heavily: "Listen here, and I am going to speak real slow, so that you get it this time. We start shooting this film in three days, and those guns had better be here by then."<p>

He listens to the mumbles, stutters, excuses on the line. Paces back and forward. "I don't care who you have to sleep with, but you get them here. On time. And quite frankly Paulie, your Daddy may be the director of this little shin-dig, but just remember who the exec producer and main financer is. I can have you back at community college so fast your head will spin. Now, get me my guns."

Flips the phone shut, sinks into the white sofa, props his handmade leather shoes on the chrome and glass table, lifts his hand behind his head and stares out of the window.

Easy to get used to this kind of life, he thinks. Wonders if they will let him keep the wardrobe when this gig is over. After all, it's all been custom made for him. Consider it danger pay…

He laughs quietly to himself. David. Really? That's the name they came up with for him? Can't help but think of another time. Before he was David. Before this undercover op. When he was still Sam. The training officer. The good old friend. The shoulder. The rock.

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><p>He and Andy had been on a routine patrol. Can't even remember how the conversation started. Thinks it had something to do with Traci and her son Leo. Yeah, that's right. Traci had been concerned because Leo had requested a Barbie for his next birthday. Sam had raised an eyebrow, looked all confused as Andy bumbled her way through describing what a Barbie doll looked like.<p>

"Relax McNally," he had told her. "I'm not a complete Neanderthal. Barbie. Plastic blonde with big breasts, has legs for miles that bend real easy." Had lifted his eyebrow suggestively.

"That's just the problem. I mean. She is perky and perfect and every guy's dream of the ultimate woman…"

"What, a blonde bimbo with spreadable legs?" Sam interrupted. "I'm more of a brains guy, myself…" wriggled his eyebrows.

Again, with the withering look.

He had just grinned, before turning his attention back to the road.

Andy continued as if he hadn't spoken.

"Yeah… And who is her perfect mate? What do those brain-boxes at Mattel think up? A blonde surfer boy who wears pink shirts, seems very in touch with his feminine side, and goes by the name Ken. I mean. Ken. What is that? Barbie deserves a man, not a boy. Someone dark and swarthy, with a strong name…. like David. David's a good name…"

Her diatribe was cut short by the crackling of the radio.

Road accident. All units to respond immediately. And the conversation had been filed. Forgotten.

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><p>Until now. Until he had become the Swarthy David. McNally would get a kick out of that.<p>

He glances down at the pink shirt he is wearing. And sighs. Yeah, she would definitely get a kick…

McNally… Andy… Been three weeks since he saw her last. Since he walked out of the barn. Since he had started on this op, living this life. Becoming David. Being David. Got to shut her into the box. Can't allow his mind to go there, to think of that life. Of her. Of what she is doing. Who she is riding with. If she is safe. If Callaghan is treating her right. If Jo has laid her claim.

Because thoughts like that, are just going to get him into trouble. He will forget who he is supposed to be. Why he is here.

And right now, here is pretty damn important.

Boyd had laid it out: murder may not be a big business in Toronto, but it is a profitable one, nonetheless. The problem, of course, isn't the nice legal registered weapons, but those that somehow make their way across the border. The latest stats, Boyd had revealed, showed that while most of the firearms used in crimes are not recovered, 63% that were recovered, originated in the US.

The big question, of course, is how they getting over the border, particularly with the more stringent controls their counterparts had put into place. Intel to the unit had revealed that a new trend had come to light.

Simple really, in its complexity. Those wanting the firepower (and are willing to pay for it) have taken advantage of movie production companies that have sprouted up, filming in various local locations. Through some loophole, these companies are issued special permits that allow them to legally buy and import firearms – in bulk – for use on the sets. And while the firearms need to be registered before use on the set, there is no specified time frame given, allowing dealers to circumvent the process and keep a large number of the firearms originally bound for the movie.

And here is where Sam, or more to the point, David, comes in.

Amazing what a combination of clout, connections, and well, a liberal definition of "by any means necessary" can do.

The scene had been set, a few weeks prior to Sam's actual acquiesce to do the job. His cover had been carefully devised and a back-story created that would stand up to any and all scrutiny (they hoped): David may be Canadian-born, but he has been living the last few years in Florida, USA. An astute businessman (and luckily, a wealthy American grandmother had left him her fortune), David is not only the executive producer of this little shindig, but a financier as well, easily garnering him a place on the set of the new action comedy being filmed in Toronto.

Ironically, (or so Sam thinks), the movie is set around three women – a version of Charlie's Angels in police uniform. There is the pre-requisite haughty red-head, intellectual blonde, and a bimbo brunette. (Couldn't have a dumb blonde, the writers had hissed, it's just so passé…)

If this isn't enough to hook movie-goers, the three are to have superpowers, making them an elite super-force. The script promises loads of action, and of course romance, and the big budget supports this.

And of course, an action-packed movie needs firepower. David's role is to use his cover as the exec on set to bring in the firearms, a portion of which would then be passed on to the dealers, with David as the go-between.

Hence the penthouse, and designer suits, and handmade leather shoes, living the life of David for the past three weeks. Three. Long. Lonely. Weeks. And again, the smiling face of his ex-Rookie crowds his mind.

The piercing sound of the buzzer brings him back to earth, shattering the image of her, as he mentally hides the pieces, fragments, thoughts away. No room in this life pining for what could have been, what should have been. He is David, a rock star in his own mind (and those groupies who keep throwing themselves at him, thinking that they can sleep their way onto the set), he is invincible. He just is, really. He needs to be. He has to be.

Standing, he shakes out his legs, checks his hair in the mirror. Picks his designer sunglasses off the side table, winks at a version of himself in the mirrored reflection. His limo awaits; duty calls.


	4. Chapter 4: Finding Perspective

A/N: Hi all, sorry for the week's absence. We went away to the Masai Mara in Kenya (amazing experience – saw all big five! But the email connection was, well… hinky) But, I am back… And I hope you continue to hang in with me. Thanks again for the overwhelming response – regarding reviews, alerts and favourites. This is just a short update, but more to follow (hopefully tomorrow!)

Disclaimer: Still own nothing….

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><p><strong>Chapter four: Finding perspective<strong>

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><p>Four weeks; 33 days; 792 hours; 47 520 minutes; 285 1200 seconds – since Sam walked out of barn, out of her life. Not that she is counting, of course. She doesn't know where he is, what is doing, or how much trouble he may be in. Her only saving grace is that he is still alive, must be still alive because, surely, they would have know, heard, had something… God forbid, happen to him. So she clings onto that hope. And bites down on her tongue. Holding back the questions that strangle her.<p>

Three weeks – give or take a day – since she walked out on Luke, on their future. Closed a door on their past. A door that Luke frantically tried to wedge back open. It's funny, she thinks, how the mind works.

She is not going to lie that she felt something for Luke. That she had, well, committed to him. That she had chosen him, torn as she was. And, if she thinks about it, Jo never made a secret her feelings for Luke. She never hid the disappointment she felt in coming back and finding Andy in Luke's heart. In fact, when you think about, the blonde detective actually had restraint. Let's be honest. Had it been a role-reversal, had it been Andy's ring that Luke proposed to another woman with, she wouldn't have been as congratulatory, so complacent, so… so… quiet.

There is no denying that it hurts like hell to be betrayed the way she was. And yes, it was wrong. So wrong. But, didn't she almost do the same thing? So, she didn't follow through. But it wasn't her strong moral grounding that stopped her, now was it. And if there is one thing Andy McNally is not, it's a hypocrite. Learn that lesson pretty quickly when your only guardian drinks himself into a stupor.

So, while she may not like the situation, she can understand it. Can justify it, to a degree… "Secrets, Andy. They don't work. They never do." Luke had said to her about Sam. About "their" situation. And, he still didn't know the truth did he? Sam covered for her, protected her. Pushed her into Luke's arms. Walked away. He was good at that, wasn't he. Walking away. Leaving. Not looking back, she thinks bitterly, unfairly. Time and Space. A bonafide savant.

The person she really feels for is Jo, surprisingly enough. Had seen her a week or so ago, sitting alone at the Penny, nursing her drink at the bar. Loyalty is a strange thing. Andy may be the Rookie, but Jo was the stranger. Switched teams mid-season and then promptly tried to take out the team favourite. No one was blatantly rude of course. They are all too nice for that. But, they didn't exactly warm to Jo, did they?

Andy had watched her for a few minutes, before getting up and moving over to her. Dov had hoped that she was going to bitch-slap her, but instead, Andy pulled out the bar stool next to her and held up two fingers to the barman, gestured to Jo's drink.

Jo glanced up at her, dark rings under her eyes. Andy didn't say anything, simply sat. Sipped at her drink. Waited. Jo stared at the amber liquid, swirled it around in the glass. "You want to know why, don't you? You want to know what kind of a bitch does that to another woman… Sleeps with her fiancé?"

"I get it."

Jo looked at her in amazement: "Who are you? Cinder-freaking-rella?"

"I do. I get it." Andy said simply. "You were undercover. Emotions were high. You have feelings for each other. You got caught up in the moment…" Her voice trailed off.

Jo shook her head in amazement. "You really are Bambi, aren't you? But, you know what, Bambi. That's just the thing. Had feelings for each other. Had. At least. For Luke. Won't even speak to me. Makes working together kind of hard, I tell you…."

She picked up her drink, gulped it down. Pushed the glass away from her, and pulled the fresh drink closer. "You know, I think I had hoped that he would decide he had made a mistake. That he would realize what he was missing out on. That he missed me. But, instead, it simply made him realize how much he cared for you. I mean, the first thing he did after leaving me, was move your wedding date up. What is that?" She looked at Andy, tears building in the corners of her eyes. "What kind of a man uses another woman's ring to propose to the woman he loves? Says more about me than you Andy, when you think about it," she added bitterly.

Andy stood. "For what it's worth, I'm rooting for you. I think you are good for him. You make him laugh."

She walked back to the rookies, sat down. Gail looked at her with a raised eyebrow, she shook her head quickly. Discussion over. Topic closed.

She glanced over to where Jo still sat. Shoulders hunched. Defeated.

Sam had been right about one thing though, hadn't he: "Secrets don't come out all neat and tidy, Andy. I'm kinda surprised you haven't figured that out by now." At the time, she hadn't been entirely sure if he was talking about the case, or about them. Hard to tell with Sam.

Sam. When did those lines blur? When did she start substituting "Sir" for "Sam"? It was such a natural progression, she cannot even pin-point the moment. He was just there. "When it matters," he once told her. Well. It matters. So where the hell is he?


	5. Chapter 5: Coming home

**A/N: **Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. For the reviews, the alerts, the favourites. You sure know how to make a gal feel special. Here's the next update.

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><p><strong>Chapter 5: Coming home<strong>

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><p>Oliver leans back in his chair, props his feet on the desk in front of him and crosses his hands over his belly. It is early evening, and he really should packing up and getting home to Zoe and the kids.<p>

But it has been a busy day. A bad day. A very bad day. There are still a few loose ends that need to be tied up. A few issues that need to be sorted. A few problems that need to be rectified. And he knows Zoe will understand.

He just needs to recharge his batteries for a few minutes. And then he will finish up.

His eyes half-mast, he surveys the squad room.

Most of the day shift has left. Gone home. To families. To lovers. To the Penny. Each desperately seeking his or her own solace, sanctuary at the end of this exhausting and emotional day.

Finding a child's body is always hard. It is evil at its most vile. But finding two tiny bodies, and then discovering that it was the mother, the protector, the carer, the giver of life – is almost unbearable. The case had taken its toll. And each of those involved in the case wanted, no, needed to find a way to drown out those images. To replace them with better memories of their own.

In the corner, sits one lone Rookie, pouring over her paperwork, shoulders tense. Sam's Rookie. Hard to think of her any other way, really. Understands why Sam feels the way he does. McNally has a way of burrowing under your skin.

A commotion at the entrance. Oliver watches as Andy looks up. Boyd, flanked by Callaghan and Jerry, talking, gesticulating.

Nonchalantly, so she thinks, Andy stands, moves over to the coffee station, closer to the men. Craning to hear, absentmindedly pouring her drink.

Oblivious, the men walk off, taking the conversation with them.

Jerry trailing behind catches Andy's eye. Shakes his head almost imperceptivity, gives her a small smile.

She nods sadly, returns the smile wanly, slumps back in her chair. Picks up her pen, frowns as she concentrates.

Oliver, from his semi-prone position, observes her carefully. She looks tired, he realizes. Dark circles bruise her eyes.

If the office rumor mill is right (and there is no reason not to believe Dov) then McNally ended things with Callaghan a few weeks back. Packed her bags and moved out. Been bouncing around since then. Not much fun sleeping on the couch at the mercy of friends, he reckons. Choices are limited. Either she shares one bathroom with Peck, Diaz and Epstein; or she fights Leo for the couch and early morning cartoons. Neither of which seems conducive to a happy rookie.

Rocking back down to his feet, he scoots his chair in closer to his desk, opens the drawer and rummages around. Finding what he is looking for, he saunters over to Andy.

She is deep in thought, an open newspaper in front of her, red circles, black crosses. More black than red. Putting down the phone, she picks up black marker and makes another determined, frustrated mark.

"No luck on the apartment front?"

She grimaces. "Can't sponge off my friends forever, but the rentals out there are shocking."

He grins, rocks backwards and forwards on his feet, plucks the keys out of his pocket. Drops them on the desk in front of her.

She picks them up, turns them over in her fingers, stares at them intently. Recognition.

"He asked me to keep an eye on the place, water the plants, feed the fish. You would be doing me a favour, staying there. Saves me the drive across town," he says gruffly.

"Besides, you know he would have offered the same thing."

He moves toward the door. "I'm going to shower and change and then I'm out of here." Hesitates for a minute in the doorway. "You have five minutes. Too late for you to walk."

Leaves the room.

Andy looks at the keys in her hand, contemplative, questioning. Just for a moment.

Grinning, she stands, packs up, rushes to the women's locker room. When Shaw says five minutes, he means five minutes.

* * *

><p>Whistling, Andy makes herself a cup of coffee. She is pleasantly surprised how neat and well-organized Sam is. Everything has its place. Yet, this is a home, not merely a house. It's comfortable, welcoming.<p>

Walking through the front door last night brought back a flood of memories. Well. One memory. One very vivid memory. Her face still flushed red, hot, when she thought about that night.

Had been the only time she had been to his place. Didn't really get the grand tour. Front door. Passageway. Bedroom. Front door. That had pretty much been it.

So, now she had taken the time to explore, seeing the neat, sparsely-furnished spare room with its floral comforter and oversized pillows (floral? Didn't take him for the floral type), the guest bathroom, main bedroom, bathroom. Open plan sitting area and kitchen.

Her bag on her shoulder, she hovered, hesitated at the door of the guest room, before moving on to the main bedroom. His room. Made her feel safer, secure, protected, somehow. Closer to him.

Despite everything, she has had one of better night's sleep. Tries to convince herself that it is because of the last few weeks of disruptive sleep had taken its toll. But, she is not stupid. She knows better. Just taken her some time to realise it.

Lost in thought, she glances as the glowing light of the clock on the microwave. Swears. Gulps down her coffee. Burns her tongue. Swears lightly again.

Grabs her bag and the keys. Looks at them. Smiles to herself. Maybe she won't be late after all.

* * *

><p>Dave attempts to lift his head off the hand that is currently holding it up, and he thinks, lamely, perhaps even keeping it attached to his shoulders. Groans, groggy. Can't even fully appreciate the fancy director's chair with his "name" on it. It's barely 6.30am and here he is sitting in the middle of one of Toronto's busiest roads, closed for filming.<p>

Had been out with the cast last night, celebrating the first week of filming. Only got home after 4am. This morning. Too damn old for this. Feels like hell. Who says real men can't drink pink drinks?

Groans again, shifts his sunglasses to cut out the glare as he watches the traffic crawl past. Lifts his eyebrow, gently shakes his head. Stares again. Clearly he had more to drink than he thought. Swears he had just seen McNally, behind the wheel of his truck? Better lay off those pink drinks.


	6. Chapter 6: Time and Space

**a/n: Thanks again for the overwhelming support. You guys rock! Just a slight note here… I seem to remember that Luke bought the "murder" house that was a short distance away from Andy's old place, so that's in here… somewhere… Hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be. **

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><p><strong>Chapter 6: Time and Space<strong>

* * *

><p>David puts down his copy of <em>Filmmaking for Dummies, edition 2<em>. Yup, the geniuses who created that self-help franchise must be raking in a fortune. Who would have thought you could buy a book on how to fake being an executive producer?

"Fake it, till you make it," isn't that what the Rooks always say?

Thing is, you can only fake it for so long before it all catches up with you.

So, here he lies, on his king-size bed, plowing his way through this manual, trying to make some sense of what he is doing.

Nearly half-way through filming and he still doesn't have a handle on the real reason he is here. It's sure as hell not his skills on the set…

Climbs off the bed, pads barefoot through to the well-equipped kitchen. Opens the kitchen door, leans in, stares at the packed shelves. Another perk. Fridge is constantly stocked by his well-meaning housekeeper who comes in three times a week.

Reaches in, takes out the milk carton. Opens the lid, tosses it onto the counter. Pulls out a bag of cookies from cupboard. Tearing the packet open, he crunches the chocolate choc chip loudly. If he is going to feel like a kid studying for mid-terms, then he is going to eat like one. Just called it method acting… Read about it… in his book…

"It's a simple case, Swarek. Just a few weeks, Swarek. Two months tops," he mutters to himself. Gulps down the milk straight out of the carton, swipes away the clinging milky moustache with the back of his hand.

But, it hasn't been a few days, or weeks, has it? Going on five months. Five months for him to get his head in the game. To become David, be David. Cut himself off from the life he once had. The person he once was. Put it all away in a box and locked it in the recesses of his mind. At least, he tries too. Damn mental box keeps falling over, his secrets spilling out.

Funny, his last undercover op, eight months of living in that dump acting like a junkie, didn't seem so long.

Looks around at the spacious apartment. They certainly didn't play around setting him up here, that's for sure. Appearance is everything. And well, you don't quite know when someone may just pop up out of the blue…

His previous undercover hovel would have fitted snugly into this kitchen, with room to spare. Hell, the double door fridge is bigger than that excuse for a bathroom he had. Shudders slightly at the memory.

Some might say he landed with his proverbial bum in the butter with this assignment: killer apartment, swanky clothes, gets to order people around all day, invited to the best parties, movie stars and models shamelessly throwing themselves at him: "pick me…pick me…"

Hah! He could almost see McNally rolling her eyes at him…

McNally… McNally… Except, that's probably not her name anymore, is it? If she's not a Callaghan yet, she soon will be. Racks his brain trying to remember what her wedding date is. Not entirely sure if she just didn't tell him, or if he simply pushed it out of his mind. Setting a date is kinda final, and he really doesn't want to go there. But, he seems to recall something about this month… this week.

Sighing, he switches off the kitchen light, makes his way through to his room. Can't help but allow the images of her in a wedding dress flitter, unfettered through his mind.

Whole reason he agreed to this op in the first place. Time and space. Something they both needed, so that they could get on with their lives. And that's the whole crux, isn't it? Hasn't been able to get her out of his mind.

She's like a leech, really. Nasty little sucker that you don't even know has latched onto you, until it becomes a part of you. Once you finally manage to extract yourself, it takes a chunk of you with it…

"No wonder you never came right there, Swarek," he groans himself. Comparing the woman to a blood-sucking parasite. Perhaps there is a _Dummies Guide To Extracting Your Foot From Your Mouth_, or better yet, _15 Ways To Woo A Woman Without Getting Slapped_.

He shakes his head, growls. David doesn't have time for such trivial thoughts... Climbs under the pristine Egyptian cotton sheets, burrows down, flexes his feet, picks up his book. Right, where is he? Chapter Four: Finding the Perfect Location for Your Scene.

* * *

><p>Andy softly hums as she pulls on her running gear, tugs her hair into a pony and quickly straightens her bed… his bed… How quick and easy it is to fall into a habit. Been four months since Oliver handed her the key, dropped her off on the doorstep. And she knows she should have been looking, finding her own place. But this just feels like…<p>

There's no rush now, is there, really? She'll figure it out. She always does, doesn't she?

Walks past the sofa, straightens the new red and navy cushions. Sam's place is homely, welcoming, but was missing a few touches. Justifies her purchases as being a small thank you to Sam. Not that he even knows she is here of course.

The first few days… weeks… she started at every noise. Would sit up in bed in the middle of the night, thinking that she could hear his key in the lock. Every time she walked into the house, she would look around, to see if his rucksack was by the door, his discarded shoes in the living room…

But, weeks moved into months, and still no sign. His last undercover op was eight months, and that only ended because she arrested him.

Walks into the kitchen, pours herself a glass of orange juice. Drinks quickly, rinses the glass, puts it on the draining board. One last look. One last check. Kitchen clean. House tidy. Just in case, you know…

Closes the door behind her, hops down the steps, stopping to stick her finger into the flower pots as she passes. A little dry, but can wait till later. She stretches out in front of the apartment, jogs lightly on the spot. Shaking herself out she takes off, heads around the block, just as the dark-windowed limo pulls into the road behind her.

* * *

><p>David feigns a bored expression. Four hours. They have been driving around in this limo for four hours looking for "The. Perfect. House." Complete with air quotes, of course. How the hell he got roped into looking for film locations, he has no idea. Tuned out the freaky-looking little dude with the long blue hair about three and a half hours ago - 30 minutes to late. Thinks his name is Pippin or something like that. Vaguely took notice when they were introduced first thing this morning. Seems like a lifetime ago.<p>

Pippin has spent the time periodically screeching: "Stop the car," before leaping out and pacing the pavements muttering: "Yes. Yes. Yes… No. No. No…"

At first it was amusing. That was four hours ago. And no sign of stopping.

David grimaces. Amazing. Never thought he would miss Dov. But compared to this guy? He would rather be partnered with Dov for a week, while simultaneously watching McNally make out with Callaghan.

He glances out of the window. They have turned into an extremely familiar road. David keeps his face neutral. He's sure that just like the previous 35 streets in Toronto, they will keep on driving.

"This is it… This is it… Stop the car. Stop," the little dude shrieks. The vehicle has barely come to a standstill before he is out and bouncing from foot-to-foot.

David stares at the very familiar stairs, leading up to the very familiar door. He tilts his head slightly. Doesn't remember the flower pots though… Is certain that he didn't put them there… And, well, wouldn't have thought Oliver was into home-decorating in his spare time. At least, not his home. Got to be Zoe's influence. She is always going on at him about gussying the place up a bit. Probably thought it was her perfect opportunity.

He sits, staring out at the road. Knowing full well that no-one is going to answer the excited little man's frantic door-knocking. Shakes his head slightly, he needs to get some sleep, clearly. The late night reading has messed with this brain… got a glimpse of a jogger turning the corner, just the flick of her ponytail really. Immediately thought of McNally.

The little guy is back in the car breathless. "Okay. Okay. No one home. Let's continue on. If we don't find our spot, we can come back." Looks longingly, wistfully back at the apartment. "Perfect. Really perfect."

David grimaces, checks his watch, leans forward and opens the mini-bar. Cracks open an imported beer. Might as well. Looks like it is going to be a long day….

* * *

><p>Andy hadn't planned her route. Didn't much think about it really. Just let her feet guide her. The pounding on the pavement. The feeling of being connected. Rolls her head, her shoulders, releasing the tension she has been holding, feeling the knots fall away with each stride.<p>

This is her freedom. Her meditation. Her space. Life all seems a little clearer after a good, solid run, somehow. She smiles to herself. She is happy. Truly happy. Would be happier if she knew how Sam was, of course. But, is happy nonetheless. She stops for a breather, places her hand on the roughened tree trunk, stretches her leg out.

Halters, falters. She has found her way back to her old neighbourhood. She watches as a line of cars gathers at the small church just opposite, lead by three patrol cars, lights flashing. A young woman dressed in coffee-coloured satin gets out. Stands holding the hand of a small child, dressed in a shade lighter. A third women climbs carefully out the front car, a rustle of silk, lace and taffeta, a gentle smile on her face as the other two rush around her, pulling and primping. A wedding. A cop's wedding, by looks of all the uniforms.

For a moment, Andy thinks her mind is playing tricks as she registers the date. It should have been her wedding. Her day. But it's not. And, surprisingly, she is okay with that.

Amazing what perspective time and space can give you. Long hours with nothing but your own thoughts, as the moonlight streams through the window. She has had four months to analyze and access, to tear apart and, well, to build-up again.

Today is a wedding day. But, it's not her day. It never really was, was it?

She watches for a while, the silent observer, as the bride with her attentive retinue walks gracefully up the stairs into the church, on the arm of the older man dressed in his blues.

Turns, jogging slowly first, then full out running. Back to Sam's house. Back to her life.

* * *

><p>David lifts his hand, runs it through his spiky hair, restraining himself from yanking it out. He doesn't know how much more he can take of this and, yet again, wonders why he was roped into this in the first place.<p>

He has long suspected that the director of the film is more deeply involved than previously thought. That this is more than a "simple" illegal gun-smuggling op.

And a little, irrational, part of him is starting to wonder if he has been made. Perhaps, this is the sadistic bastard's modus operandi, drive him completely and utterly mental by keeping him in a confined space with this yappy little man that reminds him of a little Chihuahua . Cruel and unusual punishment. It seems to be working. For a man who has been in many a dangerous situation, faced death and smiled, he is really pleased that he doesn't have his gun on him. Because. This wouldn't end well.

Jerry, the limo driver had just smirked, his eyes catching David's before he pressed that magical little button that closed the glass partition between them. Three hours ago.

David seethes, bites down on the inside of his cheek. Stares out the window. Another damn street… Hang on, this one is a little too recognizable. The limo cruises past Andy's old apartment, then Andy and Luke's new place. Well, not so new now, is it? Rock and a hard place. If he looks at Pippin, the little man will take it as an invitation to babble on about something else, so he is stuck, staring out of the window. They turn into another street, a small church – a crowd gathering – dressed in police blues.

He doesn't want to look. He doesn't want to see. May recognize someone; someone may recognize him.

"Focus Swarek. Focus," he inwardly tells himself, tearing his eyes away. Of all the roads, in all of Toronto. Of all of the days. He has to be in this one. At this time. What's the chances that it is McNally and Callaghan. What's the chances, it is not?


	7. Chapter 7: Shattered

A/N: So, while I sit here and sulk in SA, you will hopefully be watching all things Sam and Andy tonight! The good news, is that the season starts on our tv screens next week (whooohoooo), until then, I will continue to live vicariously.

So, still don't own anything, except my vivid, vivid imagination...

Hope you enjoy this next installment… and again, thank you for all the reviews, favourites and alerts.

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><p><strong>Chapter seven: Shattered<strong>

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><p>David licks his dry lips. Groaning lightly, and without opening his eyes, fumbles, feels, for the bottle of water next to the bed. Squints in the sunlight, unscrews the lid, gulps down the liquid. His head is pounding. Groggily, gingerly, climbs out of bed.<p>

Pauses in the living room, thinks back. Flashes, recollection. Sees the bottle of Jack lying on its side by the sofa, the crusty remains of his pizza… and is that the melted remains of a tub of Ben and Jerry's? Scratches his head. Gonna turn into a soppy little girl if he doesn't watch out.

Sighing, heavily, he slouches over to the coffee machine, switches it on. Opens the front door, fastening his robe. Doesn't want to scare the neighbours. Another reminder of who he is. Of what he is doing. Of what he is meant to be doing. Sam Swarek sure as hell wouldn't be caught dead in this maroon and black silk number. Tattered sweats and hastily pulled-on jeans (if you're lucky), that's Sam Swarek. David is all silk and smooth. The sweet-talker.

Winces as he bends over, picks up the morning paper, neatly folded on his doorstep. Got to love this concierge service.

Pours his coffee, slouches at the kitchen counter. Breathes a few times before opening the paper. Knows what he is going to see… but just because you're mentally prepared for it, doesn't mean that it's not going to punch you right between the eyeballs, now does it? The article is on page three…. A large photograph for all to see… He chuckles. Shakes his head at his own stupidity. Man, if only Oliver were around… What he needs is a firm slap up the back side of his head.

Doesn't mean that it's not gonna happen. Just didn't happen yesterday. And for now, that's good enough for him.

Gets up and pours himself another cup of coffee. Time for a shower, the limo will be here soon. Leaves the paper lying open, the smiling face of Gail, next to her godfather and the radiant bride…

* * *

><p>Andy maneuvers the black truck into the parking space, narrowly missing reversing over Dov and his bike. Mouthing her apology, she hops out, grabs her bag. Having locked his bike, Dov holds out his hand to take Andy's bag, hooks it over his shoulder. "Still no news, then?" he asks.<p>

She shakes her head grimly. "Nada". He pushes open the door of the barn, holds it for her. They walk in comfortable silence. It's funny, she thinks, how the officers of 15 simply accepted her driving in that first morning, in his truck, as if they didn't, wouldn't expect anything less. No whispered comments, no snide remarks. And, let's be honest. She did kind of anticipate it. Part of her wonders if Oliver had anything to do with it, if he maybe gave the others that hairy eyeball that he does so well, when he is trying to hide his mushy side…

She stops. Halts. Thought-process immediately interrupted, banished. She leans back, peers into the squad room, the all too familiar form her sole focus. Boyd. With Jerry. With Luke. She moves to step into the room. Heart pounding. Thoughts running rampant. Quickly scans the room. There is no familiar smirk.

Best sees, acknowledges. Gently pushes her towards the locker room. "Get changed McNally. Boyd's here for a while. Needs a hand, surveillance for an op. One you may have an interest in." he says gruffly.

She dresses in haste, has her coffee and sitting in the squad room in record time. Best does the usual notices, hands out duties, plans the roster. Dismisses the team. Andy, confused, looks around. Stands to go….

"Ahhh, Shaw, McNally, my office, five minutes," Best adds.

Traci catches Andy's eye, looks concerned. Andy simply shrugs, follows Oliver and Best out of the room.

* * *

><p>Boyd is in the chair, his feet propped up on the desk, doesn't bother to move as they enter, followed closely by Jerry… the small office is cramped. Way too much testosterone Andy thinks sourly, as she lifts Boyd's legs, dropping them unceremoniously on the floor as she moves past into the corner of the room. Folds her arms, raises her one eyebrow, waiting to challenge the comment that lingers, hangs on his lips. The challenge halted, prevented, as the door swings open, and Luke enters the room. Glancing over at the others he nods his hello. Looks at her apologetically for a moment, a second, cut short by the jut of her chin, the defiance in her eye.<p>

"Right, we are all here. Boyd, want to fill us in?" Best takes charge.

"Sure about her?" Boyd thumbs in the direction of Andy. "Seems to have a knack of blowing undercover cases."

"Never gonna let that go, are you?" Andy straightens, tilts her head to one side. "Need I remind you that we got both the Landrys and Bergen."

Challenge given. Challenge accepted.

"You are here because you need our help. Because you need extra eyes and ears on this case. This extremely important, extremely dangerous case, that is going south at a rapid rate and you have no idea how to control it. McNally here knows Swarek better than any of us, can read him better than any of us. You need her if you want it to work." Luke's quiet voice of reason cuts through. Andy looks over at him, grateful. Nods her thanks. He smiles, wanly. It's a start.

"Right, if we have finished with the pissing contest, think we can get back to the job at hand?" Best asks, glaring at them all in turn. Andy looks down at her toes, sheepishly. Mentally packs her verbal arsenal away.

The idea is pretty simple. They are not to engage. At all. They will remain in the support vehicles. Watching. Observing. Eyes and ears. Sam… David…Andy needs to remind herself.

Giggled slightly at that one, remembering a conversation oh, so long ago. Previous partner. Previous life. Wonders what swarthy David has been up too. By sounds of things, quite a lot. Swanning around in limos, nubile young things throwing themselves at him. Red-blooded male. Sex on legs. Cutest butt in town. Dark thoughts crowd her mind, images of tussled sheets, intertwined limbs, sated smiles. Who wouldn't want him? And what man would say no… what was it he said, about his last uncover op: "You stop caring about those things you once cared about"

A wad of paper bounces off her nose, pulling her back to reality, to Boyd's scowl, Shaw's smirk, Luke's concern. Hadn't even realised that she had been frowning.

"Right, now that we have McNally's attention, perhaps we can continue." Boyd mutters. Loudly.

David is due at the opening of the one of the hottest new clubs in town. Meeting the director, and a few key players. Luckily, Boyd's managed to get mikes and cameras in place. Helps to have one of Toronto's top interior decorators on the books.

"You do not engage with Swarek," Boyd's eyes swept over the group, settles on Andy. A roll of eyes, her only response.

* * *

><p>Two vehicles: a van and a sedan. Luke and Jerry in the sedan, Oliver and Andy in the van. Who knows where Boyd and his cronies are.<p>

No-one pays attention to an electrical repair van. Luckily. Had parked on the verge outside David's apartment block. Watched as he exited the building, climbed into the waiting limo. Looks good. Healthy, Andy thinks.

Eased into traffic four cars behind him. Didn't matter much, they knew where he was going, the others had set up in position behind the club.

Oliver eased the van into a loading zone opposite the club. They watched as David climbed out of the car onto the red carpet. High pitched squeals as three impossible beautiful girls rush forward to greet him. Andy recognises them from the file – the stars of David's movie.

Air kisses, hugs from two. The red-head seems to linger in his arms a bit longer, a whisper in the ear. He rewards her with his signature smile, his hand slips into the dip of her bare back, rests gently on the swell of her bottom. She laughs, lightly nips his ear. They disappear into the club.

Andy grits her teeth, a slight growl. "All for show, McNally," Oliver reassures as he climbs out of the van.

"Whaa… what you talking about?" Andy looks at him confused.

"Aahh, I mean. Sam… undercover, you know…" he drifts off as Andy continues to look at him uncomprehendingly.

Mutters under his breath about damn blind fools as he yanks open the back door of the van, takes out the warning cones, fencing and "Danger – Men at Work"sign. Removes the manhole, sets up the scene. Satisfied, he climbs back into the van, moves to the back of the van, sits next to Andy and peers at the monitors. "Sound and visual are good," his only comment as they watch the inside of the club. "A little too good, if you ask me," she mumbles.

* * *

><p>Four hours later, and the director is still a no-show. His son, Paul, has been there all evening, and a small guy in extremely tight pants, long blue hair, who seems to like flitting around David. Got a little bit of a man-crush, Andy smirks.<p>

Boyd calls off Jerry and Luke. Sends them home. No need for a dual team if the primary isn't going to pitch. Calls Oliver and Andy, tells them to sit tight until Sam leaves. Yippee, thinks Andy, venom dripping.

She's watched the red-head (file says her name is Lisa) drool over David all night in High Def. Equipment in the van is state of the art, as are the eyes and ears in the club. Just great. The time when she can actually do with a grainy picture, and she is stuck able to see every glint of the eye. Lisa's message is extremely clear. And, just in case David was oblivious, her backing into his lap and grinding against his hips was probably a good tip. He smiles languidly. Those half-mast eyes of his, watching her as she moves away, dances back into the crowd.

Andy grunts. Picks up her can of soda, gulps down the dregs, crushes the can. Oliver just gives her a sideways glance. A retort bubbles on his lips, half strangles him with need to escape. But… perhaps wisely, he refrains from sharing it.

Lisa shimmies back over to David, now leaning against the bar. He has managed to shake off both Paul and Pippin. She presses her body up against his, slips her hands into the back pocket of his jeans, pulls hips flush with hers. Andy watches as David's eyes darken, close just slightly. Recognises the look. Seen it a couple of times herself, hasn't she? He bends his head, and Lisa, finding her opportunity, closes the space, gently nips his bottom lip before sliding her tongue into his mouth. His eyes close, he greedily leans into the kiss, breath her in, his oxygen.

Oliver clears his throat, watches Andy, watching David… And Lisa. Feels like a voyeur as the emotions flit over her face, before she carefully schools her features. Her virtual mask glued to her face. Professional. Always.

Oliver turns back to the screen, David has wound his fingers into Lisa's hair, pulled her closer. Any more, and the bouncer will be charging extra for the floor show. David breaks away, opens his eyes, stares at the knowing look on Lisa's face. Cat that got the cream. He closes his eyes again briefly. She reaches forward, runs her hand up his arm. He shakes his head, with, Oliver thinks, a hint of regret… of sorrow… "Lisa…" her name rolls over his tongue. "This… I'm sorry…I can't…" Her next words crystal clear over the mic, teasingly, coy, with intent: "Your words say no, David. But your body… says something completely different." Smiles at him, wolfishly, predatory, again presses her lower body to his.

He pushes her away gently. Gets some space between them. "There's… someone… wouldn't be fair to you..." Lisa doesn't mind. Got an itch, and he's the scratching post. David is firm. "The offer is tempting… oh, so tempting," closes his eyes again, licks his lips. "It would be your body in my bed, but it wouldn't be your face in my mind… And you are worth so much more than that…" He is honest, not callous.

Lisa stares at him. He stares back. Raw emotion. She sighs, lifts her hand to his check, pats it gently. "You're a good man David. Not many, particularly in this industry, would do what you have just done." Takes his face in her hands and gently, lightly kisses him. Stares into his eyes again. He shakes his head, smiles indulgently at her.

"Can't blame a girl for trying." Sashays off into the dwindling crowd as David watches her, lust tinged with regret hanging on his features.

And in the van, Andy turns to Oliver, mouth open, eyes wide, her mask shattered.


	8. Chapter 8: A moment of clarity

A/N: So hope that I managed to get this in before the show airs! Here's the last part, thank you all for joining me on this word journey…. Until the next one…

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><p><strong>Chapter eight: A moment of clarity<strong>

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><p>She pulls the truck into the empty parking bay, a couple of blocks away from the apartment. Lowers her head to the steering wheel, questions her sanity, her rationality. Just for a moment. Runs her fingers through her untidy hair. Peering into the rearview mirror, she wipes the remnants of her mascara from under her eyes. Stares at her reflection: "McNally, it better be worth it," she mutters at the stubborn, determined eyes staring back. Climbs out the truck, slipping her phone and the keys into her back pocket.<p>

Looks around carefully, sees nothing. Makes her way quickly through the quiet streets. It's early, or late, depending on how you look at it, really. She should be at home, tucked up into a warm bed, wearing one of Sam's t-shirts that still, after all these months, hold his lingering scent. (Never knew a man to have so many shirts, luckily. But this was not a sustainable or renewable resource).

Instead, she is skulking around in the early hours of the morning, outside an apartment she has no right to be anywhere near. Hadn't thought this plan entirely through. Now she is here, she has now way of getting in through the front entrance.

Doesn't really want to wake up the doorman, and explain herself. "This is stupid; I am being stupid."

Turns to leave. Probably better this way. Trouble. That is all that was going to come out of this anyway. Trouble.

She is a few steps past the doorway, when a taxi pulls up outside, and three very happy, very drunk women pour out. Andy grins, falls into place behind them, giggling along with them, as they make their way past the sullen, glaring doorman, freshly woken by the commotion.

The girls stagger out on the eighth floor, one in particular an interesting shade of green. Clearly, didn't much enjoy the speed of the elevator.

Andy leans against the mirrored panel, watches as the lights flicker, highlighting the floors as they pass. The doors open. She takes a deep breath. Steps forward, her feet suddenly heavy, cemented to the ground. Shakes her head resolutely. She needs to do this. To say what she needs to say. She knows it's not right. That it's not fair. She knows that there is a hell of a lot on the line. But, if she doesn't do this now, who knows when, or worse, if, she will have another opportunity.

Lifts her hand to the ornate door, raps with her knuckles. Once. Twice. Three times.

Waits. Shifts from foot to foot. Knocks again. This time a little more forcefully. Still nothing.

Well. Gave it her best shot. Shoulders hunched, turns. The door is yanked open: "Alright, alright. Don't get your panties in a bunch….McNally?" Sam mutters blurrily, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

She turns. Reluctantly. Now that he is here. In front of her. Kind of lost the bravado, that had propelled her out the van after shift and to his doorstep.

"How… why… you shouldn't be here..." His tone low, gruff, confused.

"Aaaaghhh, can I come in?" She asks softly.

He steps back, scratches his chest, wondering if perhaps he is still asleep and his mind is playing mean, mean tricks on him again.

Her shoulder brushes his chest as she slides past him, the ends of her hair tickling his nose as she flicks her head round, looking wide-eyed at the apartment. He closes his eyes for a second, inhales the memory of soft lavender. Yup. His mind is playing mean, devious tricks.

Closes the door behind him. Leans against it as he stares at her, appraising her: sneakers, messy hair, jeans, wrinkled shirt untucked. Wide, watchful, waiting eyes.

She remains standing, in the open space between the kitchen and the living room. Nervously bites down on her bottom lip. "Sa…"

He lifts his hand, silencing her. Closes his eyes briefly. Opens them again. She hasn't moved. Seeing his look, she huffs loudly, narrows her eyes, juts out her chin. Defiant.

Okaaaaay… he scratches his head. Reasons with himself. If this were a dream, a fantasy, McNally would be wearing a lot less. And most definitely not clothes that looked like she has slept in them. Sheer black lace and stilettos, perhaps? He grins lavishly.

She stamps her foot. "Sam!"

Definitely not a dream then.

So many questions filter through his mind… how did she know where to find him…. Why is she here….where's Luke….he finally settles on one. Licks his lips. "So, what makes you so sure that I don't have company?" he asks her slowly, drawing the words out.

She raises her eyebrows to the roof, exasperated. "Really? All this time, and that's the gem you come up with?"

This is going to be harder than she thought. Steps forward towards him, "Boyd had us tagging you tonight." Steps forward again. "First time we have heard, or seen anything of you since you walked out the barn." Another step, this time lifting her hands to bottom button of her shirt, her fingers hesitate briefly, before she gently eases it out of the buttonhole. "Eyes and ears in the club tonight." Makes another determined step; another button. He watches transfixed, eyes fastened on her fingers.

Her words flitter through his sleepy stupor. His eyes jerk up. Meeting her's. Regret. Frustration. "You saw. Heard." it's not a question.

The words hang heavily between them. The space that she had narrowed with every passing step, now seems much wider, despite neither having moved.

Andy nods. Slowly. Tilts her head: "You mean that part when you mistook the red-head for dinner…." His eyes flash… She continues, softer, more gently this time, closes the space between them, places her hand on his bare chest. "Or, do you perhaps mean when you pushed her away…. Why didn't you tell me, Sam? Why didn't you say anything?"

He doesn't deny. Raw emotion flits, flickers across his face. Seeing her opportunity, she reaches up on tiptoe, slips her hands around his neck, entangles her fingers into his hair, slightly longer than she remembers. Pulling down gently, her lips graze his. He gasps, slightly, just enough, the kiss deepens. Short breathes, beating heart, to beating heart. He pulls away, slides her hands from around his neck and he rests his forehead on hers. Tries to bring some semblance of normality back, tries to pretend he doesn't feel that the floor has been ripped from beneath him. "McNally," her name rolls of his tongue. "We cannot… You cannot…This is not who you are…" Pulls her hands between them, rubs his thumb over her knuckles.

Stops. Realisation floods. She lifts her hand, wiggles her fingers…finger…bare. She stares into his eyes; he into hers. Time stops. Growling softly, he pulls her closer. She smiles against his kiss, as his fingers drift down her shirt, finishing what she started.

* * *

><p>Frenzied urgency gives way. Each taste, nibble, whispered caress committed to memory. They edge to the brink, before gently easing back again. A meeting of the mind; of the soul. He stares deeply into her eyes; she into his as they both eventually let go, spiraling.<p>

He pulls her closer, bodies slick. Lightly kisses her forehead, rubs her nose with his, before dropping a soft kiss on each eyelid, her mouth, before pulling her in even tighter, burrowing his face in her hair, as she languidly draws circles on his back. Kissing her again, just once, he rolls off the bed. Swaggers into the kitchen as Andy smiles, hugs the covers, pulls her knees up to her chest.

Within minutes he is back, a tub of ice-cream in his hand, two spoons. Motioning her to move forward, he scoots in behind her. Pops open the lid, hands her a spoon. He waits until she has the first mouthful, licking the spoon blissfully. "Right," he says. "Time to spill…"

She halters….falters….over the words; watches as he clenches his jaw as she talks about Luke… and about Jo… She shrugs it off; for the better really, made her realize a few home truths she adds, shyly. Fills him in on the barn gossip: Jerry and Nash – good; Dov, Gail and Chris – not so much…

He regales her with tales from the set, they purposely avoid the real reason he is here, the case he is working on. She tells him how Boyd needed their assistance, how Luke stood up for her. It's not said with malice, there is no regret.

Conversation soon dwindles, the empty ice cream tub lies forgotten.

* * *

><p>The sun is just beginning to edge into the bay windows, her eyes flicker open as Sam kisses the back of her neck again lightly, softly, edging across her neck, along her chin. She rolls into his arms, kisses his nose, cups his cheeks, presses her lips to his forehead, before twisting out of his embrace. He watches her emerge from his bed, cat-like. Gathering her clothes, she smiles shyly at him, before scuttling into the bathroom. He contemplates following her, groans instead, gathers the sheet around him, goes to make coffee.<p>

He holds the mug out to her, she walks towards him, clipping her hair. Dressed; composed. There is no uneasiness, no discomfort. It just is.

She gulps down the coffee, watches him with hooded eyes as he finds his discarded jeans by the sofa, tugs them on.

"You checking me out, McNally," he growls, walking back towards her. She runs her hands up the sides of his bare chest. Bends her head, rests against his chest. "Time to go."

He kisses the top of her head. Agrees. Walks her to the door, watching her step through. A chaste kiss, she moves to go. His arm snakes out, pulls her back against her tightly against him. Smiling widely she looks up at him, his fingers gently brushes some loose strands of hair out of her face, cups her cheeks, stares deeply, wordlessly, before resting his forehead on hers.

The words that strangle, choke him, escape: "Wait for me?"

"Forever, if I have too."

They kiss, softly. His lips grazing hers, then a little deeper. There is no frenzy, no urgency. Just promise.

Her hand lingers in his, as she moves off the step. Arms extended, on last touch, fingertips outstretched. Her sad smile echoing his. He juts his chin, she nods. Walks away. Leaving him standing in the doorway, arms crossed.

* * *

><p>Andy jogs back to where she parked the truck, not bothering to look around her. She has just 20 minutes to get into the barn and her uniform. She makes it into the locker-room and is dressed before anyone realises that she is still be wearing the same clothes as the night before. Too many questions. Can't share the answers.<p>

She sidles into the squad room as Best calls the room to order. Tunes out as he goes through the routine notices, a smile flits across her face as she remembers, recalls the last few hours…

Feels, hears, rather than sees the seething ball of anger than is Boyd as he barrels into the squad room. "McNally, get your arse into the D's office now!" Face blood-red, eyes bulging, barely controlled, concealed anger. Grabs hold of her elbow, yanks her up. Best and Oliver are both by her side, trying to intervene. "Come along, I think the two of you will want to see this as well." He spits out, dragging Andy along with him.

Pushes her roughly into the small office space. The murder wall, normally covered with suspects and cases, is plastered with a series of grainy photographs. Grainy, but explicit, none the less. Images of her and Sam, outside his apartment. Him; bare-chested, jeans undone. Her, head back laughing. Fingers outstretched. Lingering glances.

She wraps her hands around her waist, doesn't want to see the anger in Best's eyes, the disappointment in Oliver's.

"Congratulations McNally. Royally screwed Swarek again, both literally and figuratively if these pictures are anything to go by," he sweeps his arms across the damning images splayed out for all to see. "Hope it was worth it," he spits out.

The ringing of his phone cuts short his diatribe, flicking it open, he barks hello: "Pulled Swarek yet?"

His eyes darken, he stares at Andy, as he repeats the words. "Too late. Swarek's gone."

Andy bends over, hand still clutching her belly, tries to catch her breath. To press the life back into her chest that seems to be seeping out.

Boyd finishes the call, tosses the phone across the room, bouncing it off the glass partition. "Dammit!"

Turns his anger on Andy. "Swarek's place has been tossed, there's signs of a bloody fight. They have Swarek. And we all know what happens to undercover cops who've been made."

He storms out the room, throwing back "His death McNally, which seems likely, is on your head. As sure as if you pulled the trigger yourself."

* * *

><p>Oliver finds her in the corner of the squad room, pouring of the files, Sam's files. "There must be something in here. There must be. We got to find him Oliver, we have to find him. We just have too." She turns her tear-streaked face to his. He places a hand on her shoulder. "It's not over yet, McNally. Doesn't mean that both you and Sammy were damn stupid and should know better. But it's not over yet."<p>

Pats her again, awkwardly. Picks up a file she hands him, scoots his chair over, sits down. Sees the other rookies hovering, uncertainly, at the door. Beckons them in: "What good are you standing out there? Get in here. McNally thinks she has a lead."

* * *

><p>Sam had been missing for almost 12 hours by the time they managed to track down where he could be. Turns out Pippin was the mastermind behind the cartel; Paul, the flunky who did his dirty work. Andy insisted, no begged, to be part of the task team, and Best reluctantly agreed, despite Boyd's loud protestation against the idea, his fist slamming loudly into the metal filing cabinet.<p>

"I will deal with McNally when the time is right, and as I see fit…" Best's gaze swings round to glower at Andy, before turning back to Boyd. "But, there is an officer who needs us, right now; and McNally is the one that cracked the case. So let's stop arguing and get on with it…"

* * *

><p>Andy stands outside the house, lights flashing all around. Oliver in arm's reach, just in case… Best had allowed her to come along, but not into the house. He claimed it was as punishment, but she knew it was to protect her, just in case. So, she watches, forgetting to breathe, as Dov and Gail enter the house with the rest of Boyd's team.<p>

Minutes tick by like hours, the soft tears she didn't even realise she shed, crystallizing on her cheeks.

Gun shots. Multiple. They duck for cover. Then silence. All clear.

Oliver, shielding Andy, stands up, pulls her off the ground.

A roar, a shout, a cheer. She looks up. Sam staggers towards her. Bloody, bruised, but alive. She makes a hesitant step forward. Stops. Halts. Maybe, he blames her too.

Oliver moves to help him; Andy takes a step back. Relief flooding her body, followed rapidly by guilt. He gives her a half-smile, one eye swollen shut. Crooks his finger, beckons to her. Gulping hard, she walks, then runs towards him. Steadying himself, he wraps his arms around her, leaning on her for support, gently kisses the top of her head.

She eases herself under his shoulder, taking his weight, gently wrapping her arms around his waist, helping him along.

Catches Best's eyes. "Been a long day McNally, can pick this up again in the morning." Gives her a small nod.

"Aaaggghhh… Just want a long hot shower and my own bed," Sam mutters, as Andy helps him to the patrol car: "Yeah, about that…"

And Oliver, walking behind them, chuckles lightly

ends


End file.
